


Food is Life

by shulamithbond



Series: Reality X [13]
Category: A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984), Marvel, Misery - Stephen King, Nightmare on Elm Street (Movies), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Age Play, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BDSM, Developing Relationship, Disabled Character, Disabled Character of Color, F/M, Feeding Kink, Female Character of Color, Friends With Benefits, Other, Parenthood, Psychological Trauma, Rape Recovery, Recovery, Serial Killers, Submission, Trauma, retired serial killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 23:48:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8598688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shulamithbond/pseuds/shulamithbond
Summary: When you're an (un)dead dream demon, you don't technically have to eat, but it's a lot more fun that way. And after years of being served and taken care of, Aoife likes to take care of people herself. After all, it's just part of being a good submissive. Freddy is happy to oblige.(Basically a story of their relationship - or at least, their relationship in an AU where Aoife is a feeder.)





	

The first time Aoife slept over at the Boiler Room, Freddy awoke (actually _awoke_ , as in he’d been _fucking sleeping_ – clearly, he had to get laid more often) to the smell of bacon and eggs frying.

“What the hell is this?” he asked, but mildly, buckling his belt as he walked out to see the girl, still dressed in her nightie, standing before the old Krueger house’s kitchen stove, frying up a big pan of scrambled eggs and bacon, plus what looked like potatoes.

<I went and brought some stuff from Annie’s fridge,> Aoife said innocently. <I got hungry. She’ll be happy these potatoes finally got eaten. Want any?> she added, loading up a plate.

And Freddy thought, _Why not?_

The eggs were surprising; fluffy, plus she’d added salt, pepper, cheese, and even some bits of ham.

<Is it good?> Aoife asked, watching him eat.

“Yeah.” Freddy tried to ignore her rather awkward gaze. “Didn’t think they taught princesses to cook,” he added to save face.

<Annie taught me,> Aoife said, not rising to the bait as she added a small lake of ketchup to her plate. <And Crys. Some of it, I looked up on the internet, or figured out on my own.>

“Uh-huh. So why’d you cook me breakfast? That what they do in the romance flicks?” he teased nastily.

<I told you, I was hungry,> she demurred. <I like knowing how to make food for myself. And for other people.> Her brown cheeks darkened slightly to mauve, like the color of a faint bruise, in a blush. If you weren’t looking hard, you wouldn’t even see it.

 

* * *

 

He walked in on her as she was leaving the foil-covered dinner plate in the oven, to keep it warm. “What’s that?”

<Meatloaf,> she explained, not immediately looking up. <With mashed potatoes and green beans. It’s what I made everybody for dinner tonight.>

“I don’t need dinner,” he pointed out. “I’m dead.”

<I know that,> she said, straightening up on her cane to shrug at him, the picture of nonchalance. <I just wanted you to have a taste, if you want one.>

She went away to eat with Annie and Crys and Loki, and Freddy left the meatloaf until later, when he ate it while re-watching _Blade Runner_. It was delicious.

 

* * *

 

The cage hadn’t been Freddy’s idea; he really hadn’t been too into it at all, actually. He wasn’t much for all the fancy scenarios and gear that Aoife liked to bring into their “scenes,” as the “kinksters” apparently called them. It was one thing when Aoife put on a short pink dress and mary janes and they did the ageplay, or when they took out the knives for the bloodplay stuff; that was all just fine, and Freddy even liked the occasional use of handcuffs. Besides, some type of premise allowed Aoife to be more convincing, and Freddy could never get over how great she was at acting both terrified and desperately aroused at the same time.

But stuff like an old, salvaged, hosed-off junk cage seemed…much. Still, it made Aoife happy, and when she was happy – and turned on – she tended to spread it around. Now that it was summer, she was usually waiting for him at the Boiler Room, having either cuffed herself to the bed by one wrist or ankle, or else shutting herself in the cage. Actually, she’d made herself a little nest inside it, with one of those backrest pillows and a couple blankets, even a little stack of books. It didn’t come off especially punitive these days, but Freddy found the little cage-nest vaguely cute.

“You,” he barked toward the cage now as he kicked back in his armchair. “Beer. And a snack.”

She grinned, climbing out of her blankets and stretching her legs before staggering to the kitchen. _This place really is pretty damp…shit_.  <What would you like to eat, Mr. Krueger, sir?> she asked timidly as she brought over the cold bottle.

Freddy hadn’t actually planned that far. “Uh…bacon. And…pancakes,” he decided.

She nodded humbly. <I’ll have to go to Annie’s for the supplies. Is that okay, sir?>

“Go ahead,” Freddy agreed magnanimously. “Hurry up with it. I’m hungry.”

He was impressed with the speed at which she started cooking. She even had frozen blueberries for the pancake mix. <Do you have any syrup, or should I get that?> she called from the kitchen.

“Excuse you?” Freddy shot back.

A beat, and then: <Sorry, sir, I just forgot – I wanted to ask if> –

“Yeah. No, I don’t have any fuckin’ maple syrup. And after I’m done eating, there’s gonna be _consequences_ ,” Freddy warned. “You’ve got to learn.”

<Yes, sir,> she said, clearly trying not to sound happy and failing.

“Almost done in there yet?”

<Just about, sir. Would you like another beer too, when I bring out the…the plate? Of food?> she shook her head. <Dammit, I’ve still got to get the syrup…>

“Forget it. There’s simple syrup in the fridge; just bring that over with the beer,” Freddy said, sensing the fatigue.

She had everything set out on the table – the old TV dinner tray, really – and Freddy beckoned her onto his lap. “What, you think I’m gonna feed myself?”

She paused. “What’s the problem? Get up here,” he insisted.

<Are you sure I’m not too heavy?> she asked carefully.

“I’m dead. You’re not gonna hurt me. Besides, you’re not that heavy,” Freddy told her. “Stop delaying.” He pulled her up onto his lap. “Good girl.”

Aoife relaxed gradually back against him as she cut a bite and fed him. “Good job,” he told her. “First time making pancakes?”

<Of course not,> she said, sounding almost indignant. <And mixes are simple. The instructions are right on the package.>

“Well lah-di-dah, Princess, look at you,” Freddy said, reminding himself that he was not at all stung about never learning to cook.

He thought he saw her roll her eyes, but she smiled. <It’s not like _I_ know how to make a quasi-prosthetic weapon out of scrap metal and an old leather glove, > she pointed out. < _Sir_. >

Well, she had a point. She had even more of a point when Freddy had the entire stack of pancakes and all the bacon slices in his stomach, and was reflecting on the fact that even if being dead meant he _could_ eat as much as he wanted, it probably didn’t mean he _should_. Still, they’d been good pancakes, and he hadn’t even eaten food other than alcohol in a while.

“Good girl,” he managed, patting Aoife’s hair as she massaged his distended belly. “I’ve reconsidered about that punishment, by the way…”

<Aw,> she pouted just a bit. <I wanted a spanking.>

“Okay…later. Food coma first.”

The last thing he knew before he crashed was her head dropping back onto his shoulder.

 

* * *

 

Freddy rolled over in the big, warm, soft bed, and thought, _What the fuck are these sheets made of?_

It wasn’t that he didn’t sleep over at Aoife’s, it was just that usually, it was on Earth. Where the bedding was either Annie’s, or something Crys had found at Bed, Bath and Beyond that was nice – linen or maybe cotton, rarely flannel – but also on sale.

Apparently, though, when you were an Imperial royal, the sheets were made of something different. Silk, maybe? Was this something to do with “thread count,” whatever that was?

Beside him, Aoife rolled over and muttered, <G’morning.>

“Mmm.” Freddy rolled over again, enjoying the silky, still-fresh sheets and the thick, heavy comforter. “You sleep like this every night?”

<What?>

He opened his eyes and looked over at her; she was watching him blearily. “You sleep on – like – these sheets? What – what are they made of?”

<Uh…I don’t know.> Her brow furrowed. <I’ll find out,> she added at last, as if thinking of something.

“Whatever. You got a bar in here?”

She laughed. <Why the hell would I have alcohol in my room?>

“Because…I don’t know, it’s all fancy; it’s like a hotel or something in here…”

<But – well, thank you – but I live here with my Mom. She’d never let me keep alcohol in my room. And she’d find out if I had it here.>

Freddy groaned. “Shit.”

<Want…want to order something? Like, breakfast?> Aoife rubbed her eyes. <Maybe I can sort of…hint at them in the kitchen to bring up a bottle, and you can take it with you, so there’s no evidence…>

“Nah.” He’d seen Aoife try to obtain substances discreetly before, and it wasn’t going to work. With some regret, Freddy crawled out of her bed, reaching for his pants. “I’m going to get something from the Boiler Room, be back in a sec.”

By the time he was back, Aoife was dressed in last night’s camisole again, with a tray of hot food across her knees on top of the duvet. Aside from tea, a plate of thick bacon, and something that looked like home fries made from some purplish root that he was pretty sure was called a “topato,” Freddy didn’t recognize much of it.

Aoife took some tea and a little of the bacon – it wasn’t actually bacon, but something bacon-like but still beefy – plus some topatoes and a few of the little cake things on another plate, before pushing the rest toward him. <These are topato and dust-corn with nuna egg and Red Nebula onions. Come on, try some.>

The cakes tasted like some cross between savory pancakes and the latkes Arianrod made sometimes, and Freddy found himself eating several before starting on the topato hash browns. “These would be good in hash,” he told Aoife. “Maybe with some of that bacon stuff.”

<Bantha bacon? Probably, yeah.>

He ended up polishing off the rest of the tray in between sips of beer; it looked weird, but none of it tasted too different from Earth food, which probably made sense – it was still food for humans, after all. The most different thing was the fruit filling in some of the breakfast pastries; the blue-green filling tasted a little bit like kiwi. It still wasn’t bad, though.

<I’ve got to get dressed and do official stuff,> she said, rubbing his full belly fondly. <You can stick around – I should be back this afternoon. Or you can go out and walk around, as long as you promise not to go after anyone or cause a panic. I can give you some money, if you want.>

“Don’t need it,” he laughed. “I’ll nap this off, maybe head back for a bit…maybe fuck with that Minister Snoke guy you’re always bitching about. I’m fine on my own.” _After all, it’ll give me more of an excuse to stay in this fucking bed._

She grinned. <No problem. Enjoy.>

“I will. Goddamn, I could be anybody’s fuck toy for sheets like these, _shit_.” He heard her laughing all the way to the shower.

 

* * *

 

“You’d think you might want a break,” he remarked as she heated up leftover pasta, leftover homemade margherita pizza, leftover garlic bread, and leftover meatballs from the Italian market down in Bangor. “From cooking.”

She looked down shyly; it didn’t mesh with her black lace bustier and garter belt, the only thing she wore under her apron. She filled out those getups so nicely… _was I always this much of a chubby chaser, or is it just since I died and started liking the idea of warm, soft bodies and no bones sticking out?_ She was smiling at him sweetly and shyly with pink-red lips that looked like candy.

He forced himself to listen to her actual words. <I just like feeding you.> She brought over the plate, piled high with Italian food, and perched on his lap, draping her warm, soft arms over his shoulders, chest pressed against his like it was advertising itself to him. _Warm, soft tits, and between them, a heartbeat to listen to_.  <It makes me feel like I’m taking care of you.> One hand stroked the back of his neck as the other raised a bite of ziti Bolognese to his lips. <Like a good sub, you know?>

He let her stuff him full until his gut was aching (it _was_ good cooking, after all). “Good girl,” he praised as she massaged his swollen middle. He indulged himself in a squeeze of her ass; under its extra layer of flesh, it was solid muscle. _Well, she works out enough_. “What a good little girl I’ve got.”

She kissed him; marked him with the pigment on her lips. <Thank you, Daddy.>

 

* * *

 

It was a returning.

The big house’s kitchen felt cold now; vacant, as if it hadn’t been used in a long time. It was clean, but still desolate, especially here in the night, with nothing but blackness visible through the tall windows.

Freddy sat at the breakfast counter with uncharacteristic patience and waited for his eggs to be ready.

Aoife couldn’t touch meat after Thanos; couldn’t smell it; couldn’t even look at it. So these eggs were going to be like a Western omelet, but without the ham. Aoife’s hand was still recovering – speaking of eating meat – but her fingers that were left were surprisingly nimble as she diced peppers and onions, and sprinkled them into the pan along with cheese, salt, and pepper. It was nice to see her focus on something, get absorbed in it the way she’d used to.

<I’m sorry,> she said finally, breaking the silence.

Freddy looked up from his Jack Daniels. “What?”

<About the ham. I’m sorry. It’s just…>

“Don’t worry about it,” he told her. “Your food is still great. Besides, that smells delicious.”

He ate the whole plate; it wasn’t hard, because it _was_ good, but even if it had been lousy, he still would have.

He turned on _Moonrise Kingdom_ for her, and she sat on his lap while they watched it, nodding off halfway through against his shoulder, inhaling the smells of alcohol, cigarette smoke, and the Boiler Room’s steam. He patted himself silently on the shoulder for nixing long ago the whole “charred human flesh” smell for her.

 

* * *

 

Aoife was experimenting. She’d had a yen for korma for months, she explained, but since there wasn’t any Indian food north of Bangor, she was going to try to make it herself. Now, the kitchen smelled like spices coming together into a scent almost like perfume; Freddy still wasn’t used to food that could smell like this.

<I added more coconut milk this time,> she announced, ladling out yet more creamy orange sauce over the chicken and dry, fragrant white rice. <Tell me what you think.>

Freddy considered unbuttoning his jeans at this point. “Smells great.” He drank a little more of the fancy “microbrew” she’d picked up at the whole food market along with her ingredients. Maybe the carbonation would settle his stomach.

She poured out a little korma for herself, and sat down next to him, holding up a spoonful. He ate it eagerly; he could still remember the time they’d gotten korma as takeout from the place in Bangor, and it had been good.

“Amazing, babe,” he reported, and then raised a burned eyebrow-ridge. “Even more amazing than the last _two_ times.”

She shrugged, grinning a little bashfully. <I’m a perfectionist.>

“I think I figured that out by now,” he snorted. “As far as I’m concerned, this is perfect. If you’re going to try another recipe, you better find yourself another taste tester.”

<Then this’ll have to be it,> she laughed. <Loki says he won’t do it anymore because his ass is getting too fat.>

“Mm. Too bad.”

<Yep. I thought he looked kind of nice that way; with a little more meat on his bones.>

“Sure, I can see that.” Freddy leaned back, eating another bite she fed him as he meditated a few moments on Loki Laufeyson’s ass.

He shivered pleasurably as she rubbed a hand over his distended belly. _Being dead and having no gag reflex, no arteries, and a stomach that can stretch forever if I want it to, is fucking amazing._

“So,” he said conversationally. “Any dessert after this?”

<There _might_ be pineapple-coconut Haagen-Dasz, > she reported. <Or coffee-flavored, if you prefer an old favorite.>

“And more of this beer?”

<Of course.>

“Good girl.”

 

* * *

 

Now, it was another returning.

The Boiler Room had gotten that same vacant feeling. _Well, what did you expect?_

The old Krueger home’s kitchen felt slightly less unlived-in, though, especially with Aoife cooking in it. The whole lair knew her, these days, and it was probably glad to have her back. Freddy watched her take a big pot out of the oven; beef stew, that fancy French recipe with wine and stuff in it, _boeuf bourguignon_ or whatever it was called. On the rickety kitchen table, hot whiskey tea and Tru-Blood bottles were set out for him, along with a giant bowl.

“Are you eating?” Freddy asked as he watched Aoife fill the bowl to the brim. “Aren’t you having any?”

<I ate,> she said shortly, sitting down next to him and holding up a bite. <Drink some Tru-Blood, too, you need to build up your energy. You literally died again.> For a moment, she looked like she was shaken, but then it disappeared back into steel. <So eat.>

“Uh…yes, ma’am,” he tried to joke with her, eating the bite. She didn’t look amused.

She didn’t speak again until the first bowl-full was empty, and she’d refilled it with the rest of the pot. Freddy shot a look up at her. “You mad at me, princess?” he asked.

<I’m not a princess anymore,> she said coolly. <Remember? Snoke?>

“Yeah, but I still always”-

<You need to eat up,> she insisted, lifting another bite to his lips.

“Uh…okay.” Freddy ate as much more as he could – it _was_ delicious, of course, but his belly was starting to feel like it had been filled with concrete. “Uh…Aoife, I think I’m pretty full…”

She climbed onto his lap, sitting on his knees. <You need to eat up,> she repeated.

“Seriously, I’m full…”

< _No, you’re not! >_ she snarled, eyes flashing, anger coming out like a lash. <Now _eat. >_

_She’s punishing you, you know. For staying away so long and abandoning her with a bunch of emotionally disturbed foster kids. For all the years it took you to get close to her and stop being such a fucking asshole all the time._

Pinned down into the kitchen chair by his stomach and by her, Freddy felt his cock give a twitch. _And I don’t even want to unpack what that shit could mean right now._

“I’m sorry,” he said aloud, because why the hell not; it was just the two of them here. “For staying away so long. Hiding.”

She kept silent; waiting to hear his excuse.

He did have one, but he suspected it sounded dumb. “See, it’s just…the way I met the nightmare apprentices, you know, when I was at their place…I was still freaking out about Kathy – about Maggie – so, you know, I…just…”

He saw her swallow. Then she asked, <Did you…relapse?>

“A little bit.” Freddy kicked himself mentally. It wasn’t quite guilt, more like the feeling you got when you were a kid and they walked in and caught you strangling the class gerbil, and you felt all exposed and knew you were in trouble. _But then, that’s as close as I get, so…_ “I mean…yeah. I did.”

<How many were there?> she asked softly.

“Just one. Then I sort of…got ahold of myself…”

She sagged a little. <Good for you.>

“I deserved that, probably.”

<I wasn’t being sarcastic. It’s hard to stop yourself in the middle of things. I know that,> she said hollowly. <So…you relapsed, and that’s why you… _hid? >_

“Yeah, and you know, it’s pretty lame, I know, but the thing is down there it all starts getting to you, and you start to think, you know, I belong down here anyway, so instead of trying to get out, why don’t I just stir up some shit down here, where I can do something, I mean, that’s always what you said you _wanted”-_

<I wanted you _here_ ,> she said softly. She didn’t sound angry anymore. <I wanted you _back. >_

Freddy licked his lips, finally out of excuses. _Fucking little bitch_ , said a now-distant voice in his head that he’d learned to ignore.

<I’m sorry,> she said, setting the bowl aside. <This was a fucked-up way to handle it. I know that. I’m sorry.>

He kissed her. “It’s okay, princess. Besides, it was kinda hot, if you want the truth.”

She smiled a bit sadly. <It was?>

“Yeah.” He gave her a crooked grin. “Don’t spread it around, but I might have a _tiny_ submissive streak of my own when it comes to you, baby.”

Her eyes fluttered shut, and she grinded on his lap for a moment, mostly unconsciously. <Gods, Freddy, that’s…really hot.>

“Well, don’t go grabbing your strap-on or anything just yet… _shit_ ,” he hissed as she cupped him through his pants. She unbuttoned them next, massaging his middle with one hand while she took his cock expertly in her other. “Fuck, _Aoife_ …”

<Your poor belly,> she murmured, leaning in to kiss him as she began to stroke. <Let me make it up to you, Daddy. We can call it dessert.>

 

* * *

 

“You know,” he muttered from next to her in bed. One of these days he’d have to make his mattress in the Boiler Room wider; at least a double, if not a queen. But they’d learned to adjust. “You know, sometimes I think with the way you like feeding me, if I wasn’t dead I’d be about four hundred pounds right now.”

She was half-asleep by that point, but she still laughed. She was always laughing at his jokes. It was a good thing, he thought, dozing off under the weight of his belly.

**Author's Note:**

> “Food is life. And that's the problem. When you're alive, people can hurt you. It's easier to crawl into a bone cage or a snowdrift of confusion. It's easier to lock everybody out. But it's a lie.”  
> ― Laurie Halse Anderson, Wintergirls


End file.
